


Snowed In

by DyslexicSquirrel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Omega, Breaking up (sort of) & Making up, Fluff, I'm Sorry, Idiots in Love, M/M, No Beta, Omega Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Second Chances, Shrinkyclinks Fest 2020, Stuck in a Cabin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23942170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyslexicSquirrel/pseuds/DyslexicSquirrel
Summary: At 16, Steve Rogers knew two things: Bucky Barnes was his best friend and that he loved him.At 24, he hadn't talked to Bucky since the day before he moved to Colorado after his mom died and he thought he never would again, even when he moved back to New York City.Except Bucky showed up at his door and Steve ran to his parent's old cabin up state. It was probably a stupid idea to go for a walk when there was a storm threatening--he did it anyway. The last thing he expected when he got stuck in the worst snow storm that year was for Bucky to show up and rescue him, but maybe he should have because the alpha had been saving his ass since Steve was ten.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 19
Kudos: 223
Collections: Shrinkyclinks Fest 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to Shrinkyclinks Fest 2020. 
> 
> Prompt: "You need to eat something." word prompt + A/B/O- Omega Steve being saved by Alpha Bucky whether he wants him to or not. 
> 
> I'm not sure how this prompt turned into this fic exactly, but I really hope the person who prompted this likes it.

“You need to eat something,” a rough voice said behind him and a mug filled with steaming soup was placed on the end table beside his hip. 

Steve didn’t look away from the window, watching the snow fall, blanketing everything in a layer of unrelenting white, the gloom slowly getting darker as the sun set. He could barely make out the trees anymore, the visibility dropped to nearly nothing. Which meant he wouldn’t be able to see the road. Which meant he couldn’t leave. 

And neither could his uninvited guest. 

The uninvited guest who wouldn’t stay in the guest room he’d begrudgingly given him and let Steve forget that he was there. Steve had never been able to forget him no matter how hard he tried, but the alpha staring a hole into the back of his head obviously didn’t have that problem considering Steve hadn’t heard from him until two days ago, when he showed up at Steve’s door, after almost ten years of silence, before following him up into the mountains after Steve slammed the door to his apartment in his face and left—okay, fled—the city for the cabin upstate his parents left him when they died. 

Steve pulled the comforter tighter around his shoulders, feeling cold to his bones despite wearing two layers of clothes and will socks, trying, and failing miserably, to pretend that Bucky Barnes—his one time best friend, shadow, protector, and the man he’d secretly loved for half his life—wasn’t standing so close all Steve needed to do was reach out his hand to touch him. 

The memory of Bucky pulling a bully off of him the day they met was as clear as if it happened yesterday. Eleven years old, all arms and legs in a way that said he’d just had a growth spurt and not all of him had caught up, hair flopping into his eyes, glaring at George Harris. The sixth grader liked to make fun of Steve for his back brace, which he could deal with, but he also liked to pick on every other omega or beta who was smaller than him and Steve couldn’t stand by and watch it happen. He got his ass kicked in the alley behind the corner store down the street from their school on a regular basis because of it. 

He remembered watching George scamper off with his tail between his legs then a hand being thrust into his face, and Steve turned to look up at the alpha who was grinning down at him, one of his front teeth missing. “James Barnes, but everybody calls me Bucky. Or they did at my old school, anyway.” 

Steve ignored the hand and struggled to his feet on his own. Frowning he said, “I was handling it.” 

“Yeah, you sure had him on the ropes,” Bucky replies dubiously, crossing his arms over his chest. And, seriously, what kind of name was  _ Bucky _ anyway? 

Steve picked up his backpack, dusted off his jeans—his mom was going to kill him when he came home with a hole in the knee and a black eye—and headed down the street. Bucky kept following him, though, not saying anything, just dogging his heels. After three blocks, he spun around and jabbed the stupid alpha in his stupid chest. “What’re you doing?” 

“Making sure you get home okay,” he replied with a shrug. 

“I don’t need your help,” Steve snarled, baring his teeth. 

A few people walking by gave him concerned looks and Bucky jerked back, but he didn’t walk away and something told Steve it wouldn’t be that easy to get rid of Bucky Barnes if he didn’t want to be gotten rid of. 

“Ugh,” Steve exclaimed and stomped off. He  _ hated _ alphas, he remembered thinking. 

Bucky followed him, farther back this time, but Steve knew he was there. He hadn’t left Steve alone after that, he was just always around and eventually Steve gave up being annoyed and realized that Bucky was nice and funny and they had a lot in common. 

His childhood was full of memories of Bucky--trips to Coney Island, comic books and matza ball soup Bucky’s mom made when Steve was sick; butting into all the fights Steve got into until everyone in the neighborhood knew not to mess with the Rogers kid or you’d have to deal with Barnes; eating so much ice cream they felt like puking after Steve recovered from his scoliosis surgery; sitting on the roof of Steve’s building in the summer to watch the stars. Somewhere in there, Steve had fallen deeply, irrevocably in love with Bucky Barnes. 

Everything fell apart when he was sixteen. His mom died and his aunt who lived in Colorado got custody. Bucky stood next to him at the funeral, not complaining when Steve squeezed his hand so hard it had to hurt. Later that night, Steve heard a tapping at his window and there was Bucky. Steve didn’t say anything, just opened the window. Bucky climbed in, shut it behind him, and then strong arms were around Steve, pulling him close. Head tucked under Bucky’s chin, Steve let loose the tears he hadn’t let himself shed. They ended up in Steve’s bed while he cried into Bucky’s shirt. He blamed all of that for why he said, “I love you,” half asleep, feeling hallowed out from grief, like the only thing holding him together was Bucky. 

He hadn’t thought anything of it when all Bucky said was, “Shh, go to sleep.” 

“I think I’ve always loved you,” he whispered before he fell asleep. 

Bucky was gone when Steve woke up, eyes feeling dry as sand, but he wouldn’t have wanted Steve’s aunt, a hard faced, no nonsense beta, to find him there. But when the uHaul was loaded up and they were getting ready to leave, his aunt’s impatience mounting every minute Steve made them wait until she told him to get his ass in the van.

Steve sent texts Bucky never answered, called his cell and then his house when his calls went right to voicemail, but Mrs. Barnes always said Bucky was busy, sounding frustrated and sad. Out of options, he started writing letters. Those were ignored, too, not that he was surprised by then. He’d messed everything up and tried to forget about Bucky. It sort of worked, except that all of his relationships failed because he was still in love with a man who rejected him. 

He just needed more time, that was all he kept telling himself. College helped. He got a scholarship to Cal Arts, made some friends, and decidedly did not think about dating. He worked in LA for a few years, mostly piece work, and when a job at an ad agency in New York City came up, Steve almost didn’t take it. Then he thought  _ Fuck that _ and accepted the offer. It was a great job and would be good for his career. He’d be working in Manhattan, he found an apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, and as far as he knew Bucky was still living in Brooklyn. It was a big city; he’d probably neer see him.

And he hadn’t until two days ago when Bucky knocked on his door. But he did run into Rebecca—literally—getting off the subway last week. She asked him to get lunch and he said okay because he didn’t want to be a dick. He’d always liked her, what little time he spent with Bucky’s older sister when she wasn’t off with her friends or working. 

She’d moved back to the city herself not that long ago with her fiance, a beta named Kate, and they were living in Queens, which Becca told him with barely disguised disgust in her voice. Steve figured she would mention seeing Steve, he just hadn’t thought Bucky would care. But if I’ve learned anything, Steve thought, eyes sliding shut against the blinding white outside and a twinge or old heartache, it’s that I never knew Bucky at all.

“Steve, come on,” Bucky sighed. He could imagine the look on Bucky’s face, that obstinate  _ I’m going to save you from yourself even if you don’t want it _ one, settling over his features, so different from the seventeen year old boy on the cusp of manhood Steve remembered. Steve could pinpoint the differences with accuracy thanks to years of sketching all the lines and angles—the sharper jut of his cheekbones, the sternness of his lips that used to smile so easily, the hardness of his eyes. 

He wondered what exactly had done that, but he didn’t ask. He couldn’t afford to care. All he needed to focus on was making sure he didn’t catch pneumonia and surviving being snowed in with the most stubborn, infuriating man in the tri-state area. 

“Are you going to keep ignoring me? We could be stuck here for days.” 

“I didn’t ask you to come here,” he pointed out. He was under no obligation to act like a good host. He wasn’t making Bucky sleep in his car and that was only because he felt obligated after Bucky saved his life. Again, an unhelpful mental voice piped up. 

“No, but it’s a good thing I did,” Bucky all but growled and Steve shivered from something other than cold. “What the hell were you doing out there, anyway? Who the hell goes for a stroll in a goddamn blizzard?” 

Steve glared at the alpha over his shoulder. “It wasn’t snowing when I left. I’m not an idiot.” He turned back to the window and sighed because he felt like an idiot anyway. “The storm wasn’t supposed to move in until tomorrow.” 

“Oh, yeah, weather is so predictable,” he deadpanned, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Are you trying to be a dick or does it just come that naturally to you?” he asked, facing Bucky, getting hit full force with how different the alpha looked. God, he’d gotten big—it felt like he took up all the space in the room. When Bucky found him in the storm, huddled against a tree, Steve had thought he was a wolf, but the person materializing out of the white out was scarier, looming over him, bleeding aggression then the smell of  _ worry _ reached him, and the fact that it was Bucky clicked in his half frozen nostrils before his eyes made him out. 

Steve didn’t have too much time to think about it before he was tossed over a broad shoulder and the alpha took off running. He’d been too cold to care about how uncomfortable it was. Hadn’t cared when Bucky walked right into his cabin like he had the right, because he was tired and just wanted to be out of the snow, but large hands were plucking off his hat and gloves, unwinding his scarf and once they started tugging at the zipper of his coat Steve’s brain came back online and he smacked them away.

“What are you doing?” he asked around clattering teeth. 

“You need to get warm.” 

“So, taking my clothes  _ off _ sounds like a good idea?” He was edging on hysterical and hated it, but he’d thought he was dying a minute ago and now Bucky was here and  _ why was Bucky here? _

“They’re wet. You need to get into something warm and dry,” Bucky said patiently, taking off his own boots and snow dusted coat, hanging it up on a hook by the door. His hoodie followed, leaving Bucky clad in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt that strained around his biceps. Steve blinked like an idiot, just standing there staring, shivering. If Bucky noticed, he didn’t call Steve on it. 

Bucky crouched by a bag Steve hadn’t noticed and pulled out a flannel shirt he shrugged on. He watched the way Bucky moved, long strands of hair peeking out from the brim of a black beanie, roped forearms beneath rolled sleeves of his shirt. If it wasn’t for his scent—still comforting after everything—Steve would have thought there was a stranger in his cabin. 

He blinked and tore his eyes away, shed his coat and boots, taking longer than normal because of numb fingers, and left without another word to change. Now he was glaring at soup and he felt exhausted and there were so many things he wanted to say— _ What happened? Did I do something wrong? How could you  _ do _ that?— _ but he didn’t think he could. Not yet. 

Instead he said, “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.” Because Bucky would still be there. 

He tossed and turned for hours, blankets piled around him, before sinking into a fitful sleep. He half woke up once, cold despite the comforter and blankets built up in a haphazard nest, and felt something settle lightly on top of him. 

“Buck?” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. 

“Everything’s alright. You were just cold. Go back to sleep,” the alpha whispered. The ghost of fingers passed through his hair and he was pulled under again. It was so like when they were kids that he forgot that Bucky should be back in Brooklyn. Forgot that he hated him, though he’d come to the realization earlier, not as much as he wished he did. 

His dreams were filled with stormy blue eyes and raging storms. 


	2. Chapter 2

Steve woke up hot and sweaty and groaned, kicking himself free of his blanket burrito. Of course his body would have the worst timing on the planet. How else could Bucky showing up unexpectedly and getting snowed in with him get any worse? His heat started. Cause why not, right? 

Steve sat up and rolled his eyes at the throw tangled in with his blankets. Seemed Bucky’s sixth sense for  _ Steve needing something _ was still in working order. The asshole. Steve could hear him moving around on the other side of his bedroom door and glared at the wood in irritation at Bucky being here, at him acting like no time had passed, like he hadn’t broken them. 

He was taking a shower, to rinse the sweat from his body so his nest didn’t smell like irritation at least for the time being, and then they were going to  _ talk  _ because Steve deserves an explanation and Bucky was stuck here same as he was—might as well get some closure out of this. 

  
  


* * *

When Steve walked into the main room twenty minutes later, dressed in a pair of loose pants and a baggy t-shirt, he had a bundle of blankets and pillows in his arms and his eyes cut to Bucky’s. The alpha was sitting at the kitchen table, cradling a mug between his hands. He managed to be one of the few men on the planet who could not only pull off a bun. 

“Not a damn word,” he snapped, looking away after Bucky held you his hands in surrender because he was balanced on a slippery slope. Heats didn’t make omegas mindless, sex maniacs like people used to think back in the days of bustles and chastity belts, but that didn’t mean your scent couldn’t give things away that would be better off locked in a box at the bottom of the ocean, never to see the light of day, because your hormones were working overtime. 

Like the fact you were attracted to the alpha who broke your heart. 

Steve was so focused on building a nest on the couch, getting everything just right before he climbed into it, that the sound of Bucky’s voice made him jump.

“Cream, no sugar,” he said and Steve spun around, swallowing a gasp. Bucky held out a mug, face impassive. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“You didn’t,” Steve lied, accepting the mug because he wanted coffee and it was  _ right there _ and he blamed his heat for the way his heart skipped a beat at the fact that Bucky remembered how he liked it. His mom hadn’t even let him drink it until he was fifteen. Bucky dragged him to some hole in the wall coffee shop and bought him almost everything on the menu until he found something he liked, making fun of Steve that, “Coffee with cream? Seriously?” was his favorite thing. 

He shrugged. “I like simple things.” 

“Thanks,” he said now because he wasn’t an asshole and put the mug on the coffee table until he was settled in his mound of pillows and blankets. He took a sip of coffee and sank down with a sigh, catching the quirk of Bucky’s lips before the alpha turned away. He sprawled in the chair he’d vacated to caffeinated Steve, face expressionless as he took a pull from his own mug.

“You gonna tell me what happened?” Steve asked before taking another sip. 

“Don’t know what you mean,” Bucky said, but he wouldn’t meet Steve’s eyes anymore and his scent spiked with something for a moment before the alpha got himself under control. 

“Bullshit. You’re not stupid. Why did you blow me off? Why are you here now? I’m killing your sister, by the way. She’s the only one who knew I was back in New York.” 

“Don’t get mad at her,” Bucky said, putting his mug on the table and rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “She didn’t know. I never told her or ma.” 

“Bucky, you never told  _ me _ . You just stopped answering my texts and taking my calls. You didn’t even come say goodbye when I left.” God, it still hurt like it had happened yesterday, not nine years ago. Still, he managed to keep his voice steady when he asked, “Did you even read my letters?” 

“Every one. More than once.” Bucky finally looked at him then. “I still have them.” 

What was he supposed to do with  _ that _ ?

“I was an asshole, okay? And I’m sorry.” He huffed out a laugh, the sound humorless. “I just wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have…” 

He trailed off, and shook his head, Steve staring after him helplessly, watching him walk to the sink, grip the counter and stare out at the window. It had stopped snowing, but he’d checked the weather report before his shower and another storm was moving in. The roads wouldn’t be cleared this far up into the mountains yet, either.  _ I still have them _ . Those words were spinning around his head. He still had them? Not only had Bucly read them, but he still  _ had  _ his letters? 

That was… Steve didn’t know how he felt about that. He’d written some personal things in them toward the end, feeling desperate and lonely. 

Bucky turned his head enough that Steve could see his profile. “You still turn into a bottomless pit during your heats?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer, opening cabinets, the fridge, taking stock. Luckily Steve brought food from home, kind of a lot since he hadn’t known how long he’d be here and didn’t want to have to eat the canned food that was left in the can nets the last time Steve had been here the summer before his mom died. After college, he hired someone to come in a few times a year to clean. He hadn’t been able to be surrounded by the memories, but he didn’t want the place to crumble, either. 

Bucky asked, “How do you feel about pancakes?” 

“That’s fine.” It was weird, someone who felt like a stranger in so many ways, knowing so much about him. Bucky used to sneak into his window through the fire escape when Steve’s mom had to work during his heats, pizza in tow. They’d curl up on Steve’s bed, cuddling because not only was he a ‘bottomless pit,’ but he turned into an ‘octopus’ Bucky had described it when Steve’s first heat hit when he was thirteen. Steve remembered the heat of a blush staining his cheeks, trying to move away from as much as the nest would allow him, but Bucky tightened his arm around Steve’s shoulder.Not looking away from the tv and whatever movie Bucky was obsessed with, he murmured around a bite of pizza, “It’s cute.”

Steve blushed for a different reason then, focused on keeping his scent under control, which was difficult under normal circumstances, but the alpha made butterflies flutter in his stomach and what was that about? This was his best friend. 

And now Bucky was making him pancakes. It was surreal. 

Bucky cracked an egg into a bowl before looking at Steve over his shoulder. “After I feed you. Alright?” 

He was asking for a reprieve. It wasn’t the first time Bucky had done it in all the years they’d known each other. He wasn’t the best with expressing himself, stuck his foot in his mouth more often than not. Steve could use a few minutes to process anyway. So he said, “Pancakes sound great.” 

He  _ was  _ hungry. And Bucky made great pancakes. 

  
  


* * *

Of course, Bucky picked the worst moment to open up. Steve had a forkful of pancakes shoved in his mouth when the alpha said, “I was scared.”

Steve almost choked. He swallowed around a cough and took a sip of water, croaked, “What?” 

Bucky was half out of his seat, brow furrowed in concern, looking ready to give Steve the heimlich. He rolled his eyes. Goddamn alphas. Or maybe it wasn’t alphas, maybe it was just Bucky. “I’m fine,” he said and Bucky stared at him like he didn’t believe Steve until Steve said, “Sit down. What do you mean you were scared? Scared of what? When?”

“You. Back then. And I,” Bucky set his fork down slowly, eyes lowered to the plate in front of him, “I don’t handle being scared well.” He looked up at Steve, one side of his mouth quirked up. “Obviously.”

“Was it what I said?” It would suck if that were the case. He wouldn’t say he hadn’t meant it because he had and it didn’t excuse how Bucky had treated him and he didn’t blame himself, but it still sucked. 

“No. It was that I didn’t know how to say it back.” 

“I wasn’t asking you to say anything. My mom had just died and I was moving to the other side of the country and I just wanted you to know.” He was almost yelling, the anger he’d felt finally overflowing after so long, and it took him a second to realize what Bucky had just said. “Wait. Did you  _ want _ to say it back?”

“I’ve been in love with you since the first time you called me an idiot.” 

“You were eleven,” he said, because Steve called Bucky an idiot the day they met. Bucky trailed him up the stairs of his apartment building and tried to hold the door open for him and Steve had said, fed up, “I can open my own door.” 

“Is this some omega thug or….?” Bucky asked, looking like a confused puppy. 

“You’re an idiot,” Steve snapped and stomped up the four flights of stairs to his apartment. He said it again the next morning when he was asked outside and there was Bucky, sitting on his stoop. 

It seemed crazy (or maybe not so much because Steve thought he might have started loving Bucky not long after), but Bucky only shrugged. Steve could only ask, helpless, trying to understand how anyone could hurt someone they professed to love the way Bucky had hurt him, “Then why the hell did you cut me out of your life?” 

“I didn’t mean to,” Bucky offered as if it explained anything. When Steve stared at him in silence, he cursed and took their plates to the sink. Bucky had always been a stress cleaner, something Steve used to think was cute, which he now… still though was cute. Son of a bitch. 

“At first, I wasn’t sure if you meant it or it was just the grief talking and I knew as soon as I saw you or talked to you again, I’d blurt it out and I couldn’t take you telling me you didn’t mean it, but we could still be friends, because I did mean it,” Bucky said, scrubbing one of the plates so hard Steve was a little afraid it would break. “Then I kept thinking that you’d meet someone else and I fucking hated that imaginary asshole and it made me hate you a little, which I realized was crazy because all a I’ve ever wanted was you to be happy and if someone else could make you happy….” 

The plate clattered into the sink, Bucky’s head hanging between his shoulders. “I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to watch it happen and pretend like it wasn’t ripping my heart out. I was gonna try anyway, Stevie, I swear to God, I was. But every time I tried to call you, I chickened out.” 

Steve didn’t thinking about getting up, he just did, walking around the table and wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist, pressing his cheek against the alpha’s back. “You’re an idiot.” 

“I know.”

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you.” Steve said, tightening his arms around him.

“You shouldn’t,” Bucky replied, one hand wrapping around both of Steve’s. "Not yet."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love _10 Things I hate About You_ and I am not sorry that I shamelessly used it as a plot device.

Steve went back to his nest eventually, pulling up a corner of it in silent invitation. It was a tight squeeze with the both of them, Bucky taking up so much space Steve was practically in his lap. They watched stupid movies on VHS since there was no WiFi out here and the cell service always cut in and out. Bucky got up during  _ 10 Things I Hate About You _ and almost dropped the bowl of popcorn when he smelled the scent of Steve’s tears. 

“What the hell happened?” he asked, kneeling between the couch and the coffee table, wiping at the moisture on Steve’s cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt. 

“Nothing, I’m fine. Just dumb hormones.” He tugged at Bucky’s arm until the alpha was back on the couch, barely watching the end of the movie. He didn’t want to admit he was crying because when Kat said, “But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.” Steve realized he didn’t hate Bucky. He never had, but it was easier to tell himself he did rather than admit that he was still in love with him after everything. 

Bucky didn’t look convinced, but he wrapped his arms around Steve again, rested his chin on top of Steve’s head, and didn’t ask what really set him off. 

Steve didn’t know when he fell asleep, but he woke up alone on the couch to a dark room when Bucky walked in the door, stomping snow off his boots before closing it behind him, shutting out the meager moonlight. It was snowing again. He could hear the wind howling outside, rattling the windows. 

“Generator’s out,” Bucky said. 

All of his grogginess disappeared and he shot up so fast he almost fell off the couch. “What?” 

“Might be able to get it running again, but not in the dark, with this storm.” There was a rustle of fabric, a large shadow moving toward him, and when Bucly came close enough to the window for Steve to be able to see the alpha, Bucky had changed into sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt, his hair sticking up in places. He tried not to think about the Bucky getting changed not three feet away from him. 

“Least you have a fireplace,” Bucky said, moving toward it, voice lowering, but not enough for Steve to not hear him add, “Least we won’t freeze to death.” 

“Nice. Real optimistic, Buck.” 

“What? I said we  _ wouldn’t _ freeze to death.” Bucky was crouched down in front of the fireplace, stacking logs. Steve couldn’t see his smile, but he heard it in his voice, and he laughed. Bucky turned, letting Steve see his profile, the stubble shadowing his jaw. “You got a lighter?” 

“In the box on the mantle.” 

The fire crackled to life, casting a warm glow through the room. His temperature was slightly elevated with his heat, but he was glad for the warmth, and his eyes drifted shut, lulled by the soft sounds of Bucky moving around the cabin. He hadn’t realized how lonely he’d been until now. He didn’t know anyone in New York anymore—except for Bucky and his family. His friends in California had been people he hung out with whenever he could drag himself away from work and he’d never been that close to his aunt in Colorado. She didn’t know how to deal with a grieving teenager and he didn’t want to let anyone else close enough for it to hurt if he lost them. 

Lost in his thoughts, Steve didn’t know what Bucky was doing until he was lifted off the couch, nest and all, and let out a rather undignified squawk, arms going around the alpha’s neck automatically. “What the hell, Buck?” 

“You’ll be warmer over here,” he explained, setting Steve down on the floor in front of the fireplace. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve huffed, fixing his nest as best he could. Bucky grunted and the springs on the couch squeaked. “Why are you over there?” 

Bucky rolled his head to look at him, hands folded behind his head. “Trying to sleep.” 

“Jerk,” Steve said, scowling. 

“Punk.” 

Steve pulled the blankets back like he had earlier and tossed Bucky’s words back at him. “You’ll be warmer over here.” 

Bucly settled down, laying on his side, head pillowed on his arm. “Didn’t know if you'd want me sleeping next to you.” 

“We were just cuddling on the couch. And I passed out on you.” 

“This is different. It’s your nest, Steve.” 

“It already smells like you anyway.” 

“Is that good or bad?” 

“It’s… I don’t know.” He sighed, admitted, “You hurt me. A lot. I needed you and you weren’t there.” 

“I know.” Bucky reached out slowly, giving Steve enough time to stop him if he wanted, ran his fingers through Steve’s hair when he didn’t, the inside of the alpha’s wrist brushing his ear. He didn’t know if the scent marking had been intentional, but Steve didn’t think he minded. “I’ve missed you, Stevie. So damn much.” 

Steve had missed him, too, but he didn’t give voice to the words, instead closing his eyes and leaning into Bucky’s hand. 

“I was a dumbass kid, who fucked up the best thing I had.” Bucky pressed their foreheads together, thumb brushing Steve’s cheek. “Please, tell me you’ll give me another chance.” 

“I want to.” Steve curled his fingers in Bucky’s shirt. 

“One chance, Steve. If I mess up again, I give you permission to kick me in the shin.” 

Bucky was biting his lip to keep from laughing when Steve opened his eyes. “I’ll do you one better, I’ll break your nose.” 

“There’s the Brooklyn boy I know and love,” Bucky said, soft and teasing. “I was worried you’d gone all west coast.” 

He didn’t know what to look too closely at Bucky’s casual use of the word ‘love’. “You know what they say, you can take the boy out of Brooklyn, but you can’t take Brooklyn out of the boy.” 

“Says the man who now lives in Manhattan.” Bucly said _Manhattan_ the same way Becca had said _the_ _Bronx_. 

“I’m in Hell’s Kitchen. It’s not even the same.” 

“I’m gonna have to schlep to another borough to see you. That’s dedication.” 

“Planning on seeing me a lot, are you?” 

“As often as you’ll let me,” Bucky said, turning serious. His scent—fallen leaves and sunshine on pavement—took on a hopeful note and Steve did something he’s been thinking about since he learned what it was. 

Bucky froze when Steve’s lips touched his, but he got over his shock fast, cupping the back of Steve’s head, parting his lips when Steve swept his tongue over the bottom one. He didn’t try to control it, let Steve lead, only taking what he was given. 

When Steve pulled back, he was sprawled half on top of Bucky, his hands in the alpha’s hair, and it felt  _ right  _ like nothing had in a long time. “I still love you,” he couldn’t help but say. 

Bucky smiled and ran his nose along Steve’s. “Back atcha, sweetheart. I never stopped. Not for a second.” 


	4. Epilogue

“Bucky, put me down. I can walk.” 

“You looked tired,” the alpha said, sounding petulant. 

“Of course, I’m tired. I’m growing a person,” he snapped. Steve loved Bucky, more than he’d ever thought possible when he decided to give the alpha a second chance, more than he thought he would when they started officially dating a year later or when they got engaged six months later, but the man was seriously driving him up a wall. They’d only found out Steve was pregnant a week ago and already Bucky was being ridiculous. “I’m pregnant, not a fucking invalid.” 

“You gonna kiss our baby with that mouth?” Bucky asked, eyes wide.

He was teasing, Steve knew that, but he knew if he didn’t stop this now, Bucky would just get worse over the next nine months. “I’m going to bite you with it if you don’t. Put. Me. Down.”

Bucky took a few more steps before reluctantly letting his feet touch the pavement. Steve glared up at him, arms crossed over his chest. “This isn’t happening.” 

“What’s not?” 

“Don’t play dumb. You, treating me like I can’t do anything just because I’m pregnant. I’m not going to break, Bucky.” 

“I know. I  _ know _ , okay? I just,” he broke off and ran his hand across his jaw, over the beard he started growing when Steve told him it made him look like a hot dad after his doctor's appointment. Bucky hadn’t realized what he meant at first, teasing him about being kinky. The moment it clicked, the alpha almost swallowed his tongue. Then he spent twenty minutes kissing and talking to Steve’s belly even after Steve told Bucky the baby didn’t have ears yet. Steve had settled into the couch and let him have it because, honestly? It was cute. 

_ This _ was not cute, though.

Bucky sighed and pulled Steve into a hug, resting his chin on top of Steve’s head. “I never thought I’d have this. I still think sometimes that I’ll wake up and it was a dream.” 

“Well, it’s not,” Steve assures, arms tight around Bucky’s waist. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” 

They stood on the sidewalk, in front of a random converted Brownstone, in their own little bubble amidst the pedestrian traffic. Steve hadn’t thought he would get to have this either. He understood how Bucky felt. 

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath and leaning back to look up at Bucky, “we better go or Becca will eat all the hamentashen.” 

“Hey, I will throw down with my sister for you if I have to.” They headed down the street, Bucky’s arm slung around Steve’s shoulders, Steve’s hand in one of Bucky’s back pockets, head against his chest. “If my pregnant mate wants cookies, my pregnant mate gets cookies.” 

That was one time where Steve didn’t mind Bucky coming to his rescue. 


End file.
